So first off I'm loving the attention this fic is getting! Thank you to all who've read and reviewed! I feel the love!

NEXT-Thank you to my heart Beta FairDrea for looking over and correcting the grammar horrors that I write...love ya Babes 3

ALSO-For those who still haven't read my previous notes, this is a fanfic based off of a fan comic called Cobwebs and Stripes. You can find this comic on DeviantArt. I highly suggest you read it first before continuing my fic!

DISCLAIMER:

I DO NOT OWN BEETLJUICE/BETELGEUSE AND ITS CHARACTERS AS WELL AS ANY CHARACTERS FROM THE ADDAMS FAMILY.

Lydia set her camera down on the table for the first time in three hours. She smiled and stroked the camera's black surface fondly. Three memory cards didn't seem enough to capture this hidden gem, but alas, the camera could do no more for her.

She quickly learned that the dancers of the evening weren't fond of her flash, and so had to improvise with the bartender, Ada, holding candles in weird angles and a few juice favors from Betel.

Currently, a vampire couple glided across the floor in a slow waltz. The lady's dress rippled under her as her partner twisted and turned her as if she was a porcelain doll. The fact that her skin and makeup actually looked porcelain added more to the vision.

Lydia sighed longingly. Oh, how she missed dancing.

It was one of many attempts Delia made at trying to "normalize" her step-daughter. After the shotgun wedding stunt, Delia felt that it was time for Lydia to "move on" and "try new things". She felt that her step-daughter wouldn't be able to grow as a young lady if she remained in the macabre that her photography revolved around. Lydia couldn't help but cringe at the irony. Delia's artistic talent was beyond any horror that Lydia could ever hope to capture through the lense of her camera.

At first Delia suggested other artistic outlets, such as painting and sculpting. Lydia wasn't into sculpting as much as oil painting, but the outcome remained the same as she would create her own renditions of famous abstracts, such as Dali and Munch. This lasted a little over a month before Delia decided for her that painting wasn't Lydia's forte.

If only Delia knew...or not. Perhaps if she never knew that her step-daughter prefered to spend her days in the company of a ghost.

Her brown eyes drifted to the lone poltergeist in VIP.

She should probably go check in on him…

Betel had his boots propped up on the table, a glass of some sort of green liquid clasped in his hand that he was idly swirling. He lifted it to his lips, but not before a tiny green winged creature—a fairy?—emerged from his glass. He lifted the glass away and waved a hand at the creature, sending it fluttering away before tipping his drink back.

Lydia cringed as he let out a loud belch and blew away the green smog that came with it.

"Babes." He grinned as Lydia approached the table. He swung his feet off the table and lurched forward in his chair. He then juiced a cigar and placed it between his teeth, biting the end.

"Mr. Beetleman," She replied with an incline of her head. "How fair you?"

Betel shrugged and with a snap, lit his thumb on fire. The cigar hovered over the flame before he huffed a few dark puffs of smoke between his lips. Fingers snapped again to extinguish.

"Not my type of hang out but I guess it's ok." He watched Lydia pull out a seat for herself. "Pretty sure that blue hair bartender owes me money." He gestured with a nod of his head towards the bar.

"Everyone owes you money," Lydia smirked but then held up a hand. "No, wait, I'm sure you owe her money."

"Smartass."

"Learning from the best," Lydia sighed and fiddled with the tablecloth lace. "So, just ok?"

"Yeah. I mean the drinks are good and the broads behind the iron bars can crank out a decent tune, but besides that, it's pretty boring here." As if to make a point, Betel leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table and sank his face into his hands. He blew a ring of cigar smoke in her face. Lydia coughed and waved away the offending fumes.

"How's the pictures coming' long?"

Lydia shrugged and turned her attention to the couple on the dance floor.

"I think I'm pretty much done. It was easier with a digital camera; I was able to take twice the amount of pictures. Just wish I brought more memory cards." She finished the sentence with a slight hum in her voice. Betel watched her from the corner of his eye. She was acting strange. He had been watching her the entire visit and as she took pictures of people, decor, and even mantle dust, it almost seemed like her feet had a mind of their own...as if she were-

"Did you think about maybe dancing?" she offered with a nod towards the dance floor. She was feeling a bit hopeful that he may want to dance with her, if for anything an excuse for her take up Morticia's offer earlier.

Her hopes dropped when Betel snorted through his nose.

"Yer kidding right?" He slapped a hand down on the table as he shook with laughter. "Me? Up there doin that rich people funeral march?" His laugh turned into a cackle. Lydia, who was now feeling a little annoyed,crossed her arms over her chest. She liked the waltz. It was one of the first dances she had learned.

"That'll be the day Babes." Betel took a long drag on his cigar before blowing a few more rings in her direction. She coughed and pinned him with a glare. He shrugged and waved away the smoke from her face.

"Anyhoo, I aint into that waltzy shit."

Humming,Lydia rolled her eyes. She turned away from the ghost and crossed her legs under the table.

Betel grunted and continued to smoke his cigar.

Did she really expect him to dance? Let alone dance with her? Sure, they had grown closer over the past year and sure, she did want to spend more time with him. It was times like these, however, where he really felt the need to put the brakes on any emotional feelings, rare as they may silently fumed as she watched the same vampire couple dance on the floor before coming to a resting pose. The gentleman dipped his lady partner with a reverence reserved only for her andthe crowd began to applaud. Lydia clapped her hands politely. Stiffly.

Betel cleared his throat and leaned over to bumped shoulders with her.

"Now see here, it don't mean I-"

"Betelgeuse!"

Betel's shoulders tensed for a split moment before throwing his hand down hard on the table. A growl rolled low in his throat as he turned towards the sudden intruder at their table. Lydia took one look between the club owner and poltergeist and was about to intervene-for whatever reason-before the club owner beat her to it.

And beat he did.

Gomez Addams rounded their table and landed a heavy hand against Betel's back with a loud thwack. The ghost nearly fell forward on the table but saved ground by rocking his weight on his elbows. His cigar fell from between his crooked teeth and rolled across the table.

Gomez reared his head back in a howling laugh.

"Oh Betel-"

"Aye!" Betel glared at the club's owner from the corner of his eye. "Easy on the 'B' words there, Addams."

Lydia could tell the ghost was seconds away from landing his fist in the handsome owner's face. She darted her hand out and covered his own, hoping to somewhat calm him. She didn't need him losing his temper in front of the owner but she had to turn her face away, lest he see the smile plastered across her face.

"It's been, how long now?" Gomez paused thoughtfully and dug in a hand in his inner jacket pocket. "Years, Old Man!" he produced a silver tray to which he opened and skimmed out a cigar.

Lydia couldn't help but snicker through her nose. She covered her smile behind her hand before Betel could pin her with a glare.

Betelgeuse was chronologically hundreds of years Gomez' senior, but the ghost looked almost twenty years younger than Gomez. Almost; if you took away the layers of mold, dirt, dandruff and whatever else Betel prided himself over.

For a moment, Lydia wondered what Betel would even look like if he was completely clean.

Like that would ever happen.

Gomez plucked Betel's forgotten cigar on the table, turning it this way and that, before tossing it over his shoulder. He chuckled as he heard the distinct sound of a woman in distress. The cigar must have landed in her lap. Or hair.

Lydia looked between the two men before asking "How?"

"Gomez here had a job for me about a decade ago. Seems like his brother...Funkle?"

"Fester,"

"Yeah, that dude. Anyway this Fester dude got himself into some real trouble with this blond bimbo-" Gomez cut Betel off with a simple lift of his hand; in which Betel just shrugged.

"My dear brother's wife was caught in love's most cruel claws; the love for money. She sought to have him murdered in every shape and form possible,"

"Murdered?" Lydia asked with shock written on her face. "As in, attempted murder...right?"

"Electrocution by water, food poisoning-arsenic, I do believe. She even tried to bring down the very house they lived in upon his head!" Gomez paused thoughtfully. "It was truly artistic."

Lydia continued to sit and stare. Betel waved a hand in front of her and she jumped back a bit, frowning at him.

"Anyways, the broad ended up frying her own ass off in an electrical outage, but once they put her in the ground her ghost kept waking up the dead relatives." Betel smirked and eyed Lydia. "They called me in to disrupt the disruptions."

The two men settled in silence. Lydia wanted to ask what Betel meant exactly but maybe it was best she didn't know...

"Here," Gomez held out his silver cartridge of cigars to Betel. "A little gift left behind from Moctezuma's private reserve." Betel eyed Gomez for a brief moment before snatching up a cigar. He held it to his nose and sniffed.

"Smells like it's been sitting in the dead guy's tomb for 600 years."

"Six hundred and fifty seven, to be exact,"

Betelgeuse waved away the lighter Gomez offered, bit the end of the cigar and lit his thumb. He took a long drag off the ancient cigar before releasing the grey smoke between his teeth. Holding it out in front of him, he examined it once more before taking another drag.

"Smooth," he hummed. "Not bad once you get over the first taste of burning, moldy tobacco." He inclined his head in thanks and sat back in his chair to enjoy. Gomez nodded in agreement and lit up his own cigar. He sat in an opposite chair and leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest.

They sat in silence, fat cigars hanging from their mouths, neither one really wanting to join in conversion. It was almost like a staring contest-a contest that was causing Lydia to squirm. Then, like a hound catching a scent, Gomez turned to Lydia and flashed her a sly smile. His eyes narrowed slightly as he scooped her smaller hand into his and brought her knuckles to his lips.

"My dear Ms. Deetz, it is truly an honor for you to come here and capture the very essence that is my humble bistro," Gomez purred as he released her hand. Lydia felt her cheeks burn under the owner's intense gaze. She shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled.

"Morticia went on for hours and hours about how she had to have you for the grand opening." He chuckled low in his throat. His dark eyes flicked over to Betel before settling back on Lydia.

"Who am I to deny her every wish?"

Betelgeuse narrowed his hollow eyes as he watched the two breathers interact. Lydia leaned in a little closer to Gomez with her red lips curved up in a smile.

"The honor is all mine, really. This place is just amazing and I'd love to frequent it more often." She made a small hand gesture towards the dancefloor. "I'd love to come for a dance one day and take more pictures, if possible."

"But of course!" Gomez raised his voice and slammed his hand down on the table. He plucked his cigar from his mouth and opened his arms with a grand flourish. "There is no point of being here, if not to dance to your soul's content!" He then let out a hearty laugh before returning to his cigar. Lydia smiled politely.

"Like I said, I'd love to come back and spend more time here." She then nodded her head towards Betel. "But unfortunately I'm at a loss for a dance partner," she ended with soft mutter. Lydia wasn't sure if Betel heard her or not from his lack of reaction. He continued to smoke his cigar and watch the other patrons; paying the two at his table no mind.

Gomez leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together.

"Well then," Gomez addressed Lydia with a sly smile. "We can't have that now, can we?"

FYI...600 year old Aztec cigars are legit...look it up!